


Dear John

by BettyGrableEyes



Category: John Mayer (Musician), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Essays, Grooming, Healing, Letters, Mental Health Issues, Nonfiction, Other, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29401386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyGrableEyes/pseuds/BettyGrableEyes
Summary: A letter I will never send
Kudos: 2





	Dear John

Dear John, 

The older and older I get, the more I feel connected to Taylor Swift and her songs. While I await the re-release of her albums so I don’t support Scooter Braun, I find the song that I’m listening to over and over is ‘Dear John’. When Speak Now initially came out, I thought the song was fine, but it didn’t really strike a chord. Something was missing, but now it isn’t.

Now I get it. 

Since when you lived with my immediate family, you never took the time to actually listen to the songs I recommended, I should probably tell you about ‘Dear John’. Taylor Swift is an internationally acclaimed recording artist. You should know this by now since I was your favorite. ‘Dear John’ is about her relationship with John Mayer who groomed her. While she wasn’t underage as is common in grooming situations there was a definite power dynamic difference as she was barely 20 and he was 32. It’s a pretty song and easily one of Taylor’s most direct songs about her exes. 

Speak Now actually came out when you were living with us. In fact, I probably put it into my cd player and played it quietly in my room and then transferred the songs onto my iPod nano. I danced unhinged to it with greasy unwashed hair in cargo shorts and monkey t-shirt.   
You started living with us when I was 13. 

I remember my father brother and I driving up to help you move out of your apartment. You had millions of plants and I loved looking at them because I kept overwatering mine and killing them. You had your vinyl and fancy plates and your collection of suits that you proudly thrifted. We were busy little worker bees putting away your mismatched collection of dishes and numerous grooming supplies. You didn’t use two-in one because it makes hair look greasy, but you were also bald so conditioner didn’t concern you.

It was like a joyous party of sorts. You got to reminisce about your neighbors and the stray cats around the apartment complex while we loaded things into a minivan. We got a day in Seattle and a fun car ride. While the car ride itself was boring, it was new scenery and we all needed that. Home wasn’t great. 

When you lived with us, you took over the office. We would talk about your travels in Europe and you would mention all the German girls you loved and the marvelous parties you went to. You would regale me with stories of the time you went into a whole different country for an Elton John concert. You would talk about the German girls with their beautiful long blonde hair. Long like mine. Blonde like mine. You told me that I looked like them: the women you loved and left in Germany. The women you wood and betrayed. 

You loved me the most and I loved that you loved me the most. My dad loved his bed and my mother loved her bass. My brother loved his computer and you loved me. 

And you loved only me. 

You would talk about how my brother was worthless and had no social skills. And I loved that about you because you loved me and you didn’t love my brother. You complained about how my dad was infantilizing you and was being unfair and I loved that because my dad ignored me. He loved me but he didn’t pay attention to me. You didn’t complain about my mom to be because I loved her and I loved that about you. 

You loved me so much. Too much. You took me to fashion shows and then got tipsy and catcalled the models. You always opened the car door for me before you got in. You treated me special. I was your diamond. I was your young jewel. I was your beautiful blonde German girl you got to woo. I was the girl who couldn’t run away from you since we lived together. You thought I was beautiful when I had bacne and didn’t shower enough. You looked at my breasts underneath a monkey t-shirt and got aroused. You treated me special. 

John, I see it all now that you ARE wrong. You were wrong to constantly talk about sex to your 13-year-old niece. You were wrong to tell your niece that you found leather pants extremely sexy. You were wrong when your niece asked you about what New York City was like to only talk about the amazing and constant sex you had there. You were wrong to treat me like a girlfriend. 

Don’t you think thirteen was too young to be played by your dark twisted games when I loved you? You were my uncle. You were comfort when my parents were fighting. You validated my observations about my home life and yet you still took advantage of my age, my vulnerability, and my trust. You can blame it on your alcoholism. You could blame it on your frustration of being homeless and having to move in with your brother’s family. You could blame it but everyone knows that’s not an excuse for your behavior. 

John Mayer said that he was “really humiliated” by the song and that “I didn’t deserve it. I’m pretty good at taking accountability now, and I never did anything to deserve that.” 

John, I am certain that you would feel the exact same if you read this. My feelings and experiences are slanderous. You weren’t grooming me. You were simply being a good uncle and preparing me for the world that was out there. The sexual world that is. Somehow being a good uncle involved dressing me up like the bride you never got to have. Being a good uncle involved taking me out on dates and flirting with me at every opportunity. Being a good uncle was being a good boyfriend.

While I don’t think I was in danger of being assaulted, you did groom me and I can see it now that you wanted me, but society said that you couldn’t so you settled for grooming me for someone else. You didn’t view me as a human who would be hurt by your actions. You viewed me as another man’s object. I couldn’t be yours so you were going to make me perfect and pliant for someone else. You were me going to make me into your ideal sexual partner and then so unflinchingly generously hand me to some other man. An exchange of property. 

I hate to break it to you, but you did not prepare me for anything. You didn’t help me in any way. What you did was incest and grooming. You didn’t make me pliant and perfect. In fact, if I get into any relationship that has undertones of romance, I run away and ghost them after three days. You didn’t enable intimacy and ease me along. You gave me intimacy issues. You gave me fear. You wounded me.

Now as an adult I see that you are commenting on the random Facebook posts that I share hoping for a response of some sort, but you will not get one. I will never give you the satisfaction of my attention ever again. I have blocked you on Facebook and if you attempt to come into contact with me ever again, I will simply ignore you. There will never be equivalent pain and trauma that I could inflict on you in revenge that would be in any way comparable to the pain and trauma you have inflicted on me, but I can do my best. 

The only thing I can do is ignore you and make sure all of your efforts were for naught. You will never hand me off to another man like a family heirloom changing hands. You will never get to see me get married. You will never know anything about my life and how I am doing. You will never hear from me again. I will never wear your favorite leather pants and I will never dress like the women you considered hot. 

The best revenge is living well and I will live well despite you. I will reject everything you stand for. I will have healthy relationships. I will not be a man’s toy to be handed off to another man. I will not be your property or anyone’s doll ever again.

For the rest of my life, you will be irrelevant. You will never see hide or hair of me. I will be a wisp in your memory of the girlfriend you raised. I will never be able to hurt you in the way you hurt me, but ignoring you is the next best thing. It will not scar but being fully ignored will hurt and wound you and I can be content with that. You will never provoke me into response and you will never get the attention you crave. You will never get validation and you will be met with a stone wall. When you face me you will face a vast nothing, an emptiness that you cannot create your perfect girlfriend with. I will not let you hold power over me ever again

Dear John,

Goodbye and Good riddance


End file.
